


The Checklist: Somnophilia

by Teland



Series: The Checklist [1]
Category: The Musketeers (TV) RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Banter, Bondage, Consent Play, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Foot-Jobs, Frottage, Happy Ending, Kink Negotiation, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, POV Character of Color, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sleep Molestation, Spanking, face-slapping, hand-jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Santi turns on his side and presses close. "I want — you to *molest* me in my sleep. We talked about —" </p><p>"*Oh* —" </p><p>"I want you to *touch* me while I am sleeping, while I am *helpless*. I want you to... do everything you want."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well, *okay*. I mean, if you *want*.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Outcastspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outcastspice/gifts).



> Happy Belated Birthday, Spice! You help so much with *every* story, giving me so much of the feedback that keeps me going, so much of the cheer and love and *motivation* that keeps me going. Of course when you told me you wanted this kink I had to try. Of *course* I did. 
> 
> Direct sequel to [Negotiation Is An Important Part Of Any Healthy Relationship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4575570), and probably won't make a great deal of sense without that one first. 
> 
> End Notes contain vaguely spoilery information about that underage warning.

The trailer-hopping, Howie thinks, is maybe a *little* ridiculous. 

For one, they — none of them — aren't fooling a single blessed soul by sneaking out of one trailer in the wee hours and moving back to another — 

Or another — 

Or *another*. 

For another thing — 

"Howie." 

"Yeah, we accidentally switched pants again." 

Santi does a *fascinating* little shimmy *while* they're in the process of scurrying like rats back to their own — 

And he's wearing Howie's *pants* — 

And he's licking his lips like he's *thinking* about — 

"You know what, you're coming to my trailer." 

"I believe this defeats the purpose of leaving *Luca's* trailer —" 

"I don't *care*." 

And Santi grins at him, grins at him the way he always does when Howie says something like that — 

So into Howie's trailer they go. 

And it's neat, because Howie is a neat person *much* of the time, but especially when he's working — you *need* to be able to find things fast when you're on a schedule — but also because — 

And it's time to admit this — 

He's been spending a *lot* of time in other people's trailers just lately. 

He almost expects to see *dust*. 

He — 

"Howie...? What's wrong?" 

Howie grins wryly and shakes his head. "We're all fucking like *animals*." 

"That is wrong?" 

"Absolutely *not*. C'mon, trousers off, let me see you —" 

"I love your *kinks*," Santi says, and kicks out of his trainers right there, shoves his too-tight jeans down — 

And then they blink. 

"Hrm." 

"Yeah um. Those are Luca's pants." 

"Yes, they are." And Santi plucks at the waistband. 

In the light — 

Well, in the light, they're almost glowing, because they're a shade of neon blue which probably needed radioactive isotopes in order to be created. 

Which. "*How* did you —" 

"It was *dark*." 

"Yeah, but —" 

"Howie." 

"Right," Howie says, and they finish stripping right there, because *Santi* isn't neat unless he has to be, which he doesn't in *Howie's* trailer, and — 

"Different kink?" 

"All the kinks. All of 'em," Howie says, gripping Santi's hips and walking them back into the little cupboard of a bedroom. 

Santi is grinning again, and — yeah. 

Neither of them are hard, per se — their puppy had needed *lots* of exercise tonight — but that's the thing about Santi. About *him* and Santi. 

They've already learned that they don't *need* that in order to have a damned good *conversation*. So. Onto the bed — 

Wrestle their way *hideously* inefficiently under the covers, because Luca is right, it *is* more fun that way — 

And Santi fights *dirty* and *mean* and that's *hot* — 

And always *appreciates* it when Howie gets meaner in *turn* — 

And the covers are on the *floor* — 

And that's going to be a *problem* when it gets *really* cold in about an hour or two — but for now...

For now, it's enough to be *pinning* Santi. To be holding him down and holding him *spread* while he pants and stares up at him so *happily*. 

Just — "Is it time for kisses, yet? Or will I get bitten?" 

"Maybe you should try and see..." 

Howie grins and growls and leans in — 

And they're biting each other's lips — a lot more gently than they want to — they've both got scenes to film tomorrow, and there's only so much makeup should have to put up with — 

But *Santi* can bite Howie's *neck* all he wants — almost — 

Bite while Howie grinds down just a little, cock to sensitized cock — 

Santi *moans* against Howie's neck — 

Sucks a *hard* kiss — "I want — something." 

Howie blinks. He knows that 'something'. A bit. "Something specific, yeah?" And he pulls back enough to meet Santi's eyes without releasing the pin. 

Santi smiles *ruefully*. "We... talked about it before..." 

"That's a *lot* of things, Santi..."

And Santi actually *shivers*, which means he thinks — no. 

No. Howie can ask. "What's wrong, mm? You know I'm not going to judge or anything pathetic like that —" 

"No! I know. It's only... I am a little nervous about... what I want." 

*That's* new. "Nervous about wanting it or about the thing itself? Or... something else?" 

Santi smiles ruefully again — and shrugs meaningfully. 

Time to release the pin. Howie rolls to the side and turns to face Santi, rubbing his chest. "What is it, mm? Tell me, we can work it through." 

Santi studies him for long moments — 

Long, *hungry* moments — 

"You always *want* to do this with me." 

"'course I do. I *love* talking to you about *everything*, but *especially* making love." 

"And... especially kink?" 

Howie grins. "You make it perfect. I've had these kinds of conversations before, but..." He shakes his head. "Never like it is with you. Never so raw. Never so *out* there. Never so bloody *direct*... once we get right down *to* it." And Howie raises his eyebrows. 

Santi licks his teeth. "You are..."

"Mm?" 

And Santi turns on his side and presses close. "I want — you to *molest* me in my sleep. We talked about —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"I want you to *touch* me while I am sleeping, while I am *helpless*. I want you to... do everything you want." 

Howie licks his lips and nods. "We can. We *can*. But — this is something you should be *sure* about —" 

"Which is why we will not do it tonight," Santi says, and they both snicker. 

"Right, right, putting my dick *away* —" 

"No, don't do that," Santi says, and reaches down between them to *grab* him — 

"*Fuck* — right, if it's going to be like *that*," Howie says, and makes it even more crowded and complicated between them — 

Gets that long, pretty cock in *hand* — 

"Nn —" 

"Santi — Santi — tell me what you *want*." 

"I — fuck — stroke me. *Stroke* me." 

"Absolutely. Squeeze *me* — *unh* — oh, your hands are perfect, your long fingers —" 

"Don't — don't talk about long fingers —" 

"Does it make you want mine inside you? Mm?" 

"*Yes*, and I don't want that — yet —" 

"Then — fuck — do it harder, do it — yeah. Yeah. When do you want it. When do you want me to finger you open, eh?" 

And Santi moans longer and louder than what that's worth, than what Howie's doing with his *hand* is worth — 

"Santi —" 

"When I am *asleep* —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"I want you to — please. *Please*," Santi says, and his eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, and he's *pushing* into Howie's fist — 

And Howie knows what he *wants*. "You want me to... manhandle you..." 

Santi *grunts* — 

"You want me to move your sleeping body around just the way *I* want it —" 

"Oh — *please* —" 

"You want me to slick you up for my *use*." 

"I — I — *fuck*. Howie —" 

"Work you *open* for me and then push right in while you can't move — are we using some kind of — what drugs do you *have*?" 

"We don't — it won't take much, please, I'll tell you, don't *stop* —" 

Howie grunts and gets his other hand down there — 

*Santi's* hand is *shaking* on Howie's cock — 

Howie works Santi's balls while he's stroking him off and — 

"Please — *please*, Howie —" 

"I'll fuck you just the way I want to, Santi..." 

"Oh, *God* — oh, *fuck* —" 

"I'll maybe *experiment* a little. Try all the little things we never do because *you* don't want them —" 

"HNH —" 

"I'll make you my *toy*, love," Howie says, and leans in to *lick* that mouth — 

Santi *whimpers* — 

Tries to catch Howie's mouth for a kiss — 

He's *bucking* into Howie's fist — 

"*That's* right —" 

"Please please —" 

"You *want* it —" 

"I do!" 

"Then *show* me you want it, love."

"Please, I —" And Santi *screams* when Howie squeezes him — 

Santi is more *sensitive* in those ways — 

And a part of Howie is already in that increasingly-less-hypothetical future where he's doing this to a *sleeping* Santi, but — 

"Come for me. Come *hard*." 

"*Howie* —" 

"*Do* it. And you can have what you *want*," Howie says, and takes his hand off Santi's balls and pushes two fingers back between while Santi bucks and bucks and *yells* for him, gives it *up* for him, *reaches* for that peak for him — 

And Howie knows how to make it easier. He *rubs* Santi's hole with his very best calluses, wishing sincerely for Porthos's for just a moment — 

And Santi *howls* for him, spilling all over Howie's other hand, shuddering and jerking and *losing* it — 

So *perfect* — 

*Now* Howie kisses him, kisses him *hard* — 

Keeps rubbing that *hole* — 

Works that cock a little *gently* — 

And Santi shudders and shudders and groans, cupping Howie's face with shaking hands and kissing him deeply, needily, *hungrily*. 

Howie moves his hands from between them, gets one of them on that hip, and yanks Santi closer. He *needs* him closer, needs to *feel* — 

And Santi nods into the kiss and urges Howie over him again, urges him to — 

But — Howie pulls back — "Are you sure?" 

"I want it, I want this pain tonight," Santi says, and his eyes are wide, and he's stroking Howie's beard restlessly — 

So *hungrily* — and Howie knows that *part* of the reason he wants it is because they can't grind their *faces* together as much as they both want to. 

Howie nods and shoves his arms under Santi's shoulders, tucks his face behind Santi's ear — 

"What — what —" 

"Makeup will cover this easy," Howie says, and sucks kisses *there* —

"*Ohn* —" 

Nuzzles and *grinds* while he's grinding his *cock* against Santi's — 

"Please, *yes*!"

And Santi is holding him *tight* — 

Squeezing the *breath* out of him — 

Wrapping his *legs* round him, too — 

And it's so good to fuck him this way, kiss him this way — 

"Please, Howie, please, please — " 

"You feel so *fucking* good —" 

Santi moans and squeezes him tighter, bucks up against him, *gasps* — 

Howie's cock *jerks* for it, for all of it, wants *more*, and Howie's already taking it, already *shoving* against Santi — 

Santi is *grunting* —

"So — so bloody *sexy* —" 

And Santi *rakes* his short nails down Howie's back, down and down, all the way over his arse —

Howie arches and bucks, *slams* — 

And he's fucking against him faster, harder, growling into Santi's ear, *licking* it, sucking the lobe and the sweaty place just behind it — 

"Howie — oh, *Howie* —" 

"Need you, *need* you —" 

"You have me!" 

And it's impossible to keep a rhythm when Santi *says* things like that, impossible not to buck, not to *drive* against him, not to growl for the feel of his balls getting tight and his belly just *dropping* — 

He's going to be doing this again — 

He's going to be doing this again and again and — 

Santi is *his* — 

Howie *drags* a kiss over Santi's stubbled cheek and steals another kiss from his mouth — 

"*Mm* —" 

Shoves his tongue *deep* — 

Santi *grips* Howie's arse — 

Digs his short nails *in* — 

Urges him to fuck *harder* — 

And Howie does just that, making the headboard bang against the *wall*, making Santi cough his air into Howie's *mouth*, making — 

"Howie — *yes*!" 

He kisses him again, again, *again*, and why does he always *forget* how bad they are at behaving themselves when they're face to face? 

Why does he always — 

Always fucking — 

And Santi is still so *hard* against him, still so slick and sweet and *hard*, so good, so *good* for him — 

Howie bites those lips hard, sucks them *harder* — 

Grinds and fucks and *slams* — 

"Will you... will you be this hard on me when I am sleeping?" 

Howie coughs a *shout* —

His cock *spasms* — 

"Santi —" 

"Will you *hurt* me when I am helpless?" 

"I — Santi, I'll —" 

"No — no, don't. Don't tell me. Let me be *surprised*." 

"NNH —" And he's coming to the sound of Santi's panted laughter, the sound of his *pleased* laughter — 

Burning up and shaking and groaning and feeling so good, so powerful, so *good* — 

So *perfect* with his *lover* — 

He's coming all *over* Santi, marking him *again* — 

Giving that to *both* of them, because he's a bloody *caveman* — 

And he's laughing, too, when he can. Coming his bloody *brains* out, but still laughing. 

Still — fuck, so *good*. 

He swivels his hips to really work that come *around*... 

"Ah, *this* kink —" 

"All — *all* the kinks —" 

"Pissing?"

Howie slumps and snickers. 

"What is this reaction? I don't know it!" 

"That's the 'I don't know if my cock will work well enough to make that kink *exciting* tonight' reaction, love." 

"You don't think you can *piss*?" 

"I can *piss*, but, you know, I always thought — wait a sec —" And Howie rolls *most* of the way off Santi, then reaches to grab the blankets off the floor. They won't stick to each other *or* the sheets badly enough to need a wash. 

Probably. 

"Anyway, I always thought that kink was better — with men, anyway — if it was a little *difficult* to piss because you were so bloody *hard*." 

Santi stares at him. 

"Mm?" 

"You have given thought to *everything*!" 

"Not theoretical physics." 

"*Howie*." 

"Right, no, but —" 

"Tell me *your* thoughts about — about sleep molestation," Santi says, and curls into him again. He's a little wide-eyed, and excited, and hungry — and a little young, too. 

"Well, all right. Here they are: I think it's *hot*. I think the people *really* need to trust each other, or else things can get *bad* the morning after. I think I'm going to be bloody *nervous* —" 

"What? Why?" 

"Because I'll be onstage, love. For the *first* time." 

Santi blinks. "What..." 

Howie strokes Santi's hair. "When we're making love, we've all sorts of ways to tell each other what works, what works really well, what works *really* well, and what absolutely doesn't work at all. When we do *this*... I'll have nothing but my own selfish kinks, and I'll have no bloody idea how you're really reacting to them until the next *day*. It'll be like waiting for the *reviews* to go live." 

Santi blinks *rapidly*. "I... hadn't thought..." 

"No? Even though you've done it before?" 

Santi smiles wryly. "I was drunk *and* stoned *and* coming down from tripping when that happened, Howie. I was not thinking *very* clearly." 

Howie looks at him. 

And Santi blushes. "It was... one of the nights when I had deliberately pushed myself. Pushed myself to *lose* control." 

And that...

Howie already knows that there weren't very many of *those* nights, as these things go. 

But that brings them to the *sticking* point. "Santi..." 

"It was one of the *last* nights, because — I smoked too much." 

Howie frowns. "Not drank too much? Took too much...? Whatever it was that had you tripping." 

"Just acid, nothing dire," Santi says, and waves it off. "No, I... I have a *difficult* reaction to weed, when I smoke enough of it." 

"Oh. Am I going to want to hurt someone really badly in a few minutes?" 

Santi laughs ruefully. "No, Howie. There is — no tragedy here." 

"You're *sure* —" 

"Oh, yes. But... there could've been. That night, after I'd made love to Janelle for hours with my mouth, and she'd called me seven different *probably* female names, I fell asleep. And *she* woke up. And could not wake *me* up — not completely. No matter what she did. I responded to her muzzily, I was not *complete* dead weight, I *remember* all the things she tried to get me to wake up — she grew quite worried — but I kept slipping back into my dreams," Santi says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Uh... shit. But — how do you know it wasn't a *combination* of everything —" 

"I experimented." 

"Oh, *shit*, Santi —" 

"It was hard finding people I trusted enough for it, but I *did* find them, and... well. You have wondered, perhaps, why I always leave when you smoke with the others?"

"I just thought you didn't *like* it very much, or had grown *out* of it —" 

"I like it, Howie. I have *fun*. I *relax*. And then... I go to sleep," Santi says, and smiles ruefully. 

"And — you're trusting me with this." 

"Yes. Please," Santi says, serious and low and just a little hard — because he *thinks* Howie's about to stall, or be slow and *wrong* in some other way. 

He won't be. Howie kisses him. "All right, love. Tell me when you're ready. You know between me and Tom we're covered on the —" 

"I want your smoke. *Yours*." 

Howie takes a breath. "Then you'll have it," Howie says, and cups the back of Santi's neck, pulling him in so that they can nuzzle a little. "What else." 

"Nothing. There is... nothing." 

"No?" 

Santi shivers. "Perhaps..." 

"Mm?" 

"If I say, one day, that I want you alone..." 

Howie grins. "Now when do I *ever* put up a fight for that, eh...?"

Santi's smile is smaller and hungrier. "You don't. Please... keep that up." 

"Absolutely."


	2. Always agree with the crazy person.

So, of course, when Howie gets back to his trailer after filming Porthos's night scenes the next day — 

Santi is waiting for him on his couch, wearing nothing but his jeans — that button-fly is open too low to tell any *other* tales — with two *perfectly*-rolled blunts on the table in front of him. 

It. 

"Uh..." 

Santi puts one bare foot up on the edge of Howie's coffee table and wriggles his toes. And smiles wryly. "It's your own fault." 

"Definitely," Howie says. It's always safer to agree with the crazy person. "Why is it my fault again?" 

Santi reaches out and picks up one of the blunts — 

Runs it under his nose — 

Closes his eyes with pleasure — 

"You're making that look *incredibly* hot, by the way —" 

"Inhaling...?" 

"Existing, really, but yeah —" 

"You are wearing too many clothes, Howie..." 

"I am definitely wearing too many — where did all these clothes even come from?" Howie strips down to *his* jeans — and boxers beneath them, because he's *not* a crazy person — "About it being my fault?" 

"You're too perfect," Santi says, and — he's not teasing. 

He's wry, and he's got that I'm-older-than-you-but-I'm-definitely-not-wiser *thing* in his voice, and — 

"I need you. Please." 

Howie joins him on the couch. "You got me," Howie says, and turns him into a kiss. "But do you need *this* tonight?"

Santi searches him — "I need to be... good. For you." 

"You always are —" 

"Howie." 

"Right — *right*. Because we both knew what that meant," Howie says, and takes a breath, and strokes Santi's — freshly-shaved — cheek. "I'll make you good for me." 

Santi's eyes widen immediately, and he looks hopeful and needy and *hungry*. "Yes?" 

"I'm going to take *exactly* what I need from you, love —" 

Santi makes a guttural noise — 

"Yeah. You won't be able to help it. You'll give me everything." 

"Yes. *Yes*, *please*." 

And Howie kisses him again, kisses him hard and hot — 

The scent of the smoke is green and fresh, musky and just — 

Right now, it's making him want to fuck just as much as everything else. 

Howie pulls back and grins. "How much of these will you need?"

"Just one should be enough —" 

"*Really*. Well, then. Light 'em up, love."

They smoke fast — too fast, really; they're both coughing a little — but they both want their mouths and hands free for other things. 

Which just means that, within half an hour or so, Howie is deeply, deeply fascinated by all the colours of Santi's hair, and Santi is giggling like an arsehole while Howie plays with it. 

The only thing to do about *that* is to drink some of the water Santi had taken out for them, and then manhandle Santi further onto the couch so he can play with his treasure trail hair. 

"Oh — *God*, Howie!" 

"Shh, I'm busy down here —" 

"With my *hair*?" 

"With your *pretty* hair." 

Santi giggles hard —

Throws his right leg up behind Howie's head onto the back of the couch — 

"Thank you *very* much —" 

"I must — I must make things *easier* for my man..."

"Yes, you — mm. Mm. You know you have the gold highlights down here, too." 

"The salons charge very much for this." 

Howie looks at Santi. 

Santi looks at him. 

They *both* giggle like arseholes. 

And Howie pets that soft, curling — 

Pretty — 

Very pretty — 

"You know, Howie... mm. I — Mm. I am very stoned." 

"I *do* know that..." 

Santi snickers and drinks more water, then sets the bottle aside, licking his lips. "Will you let me play with *your* hair like this?"

"When it's your turn," Howie says, and can't even begin to hold back a grin as he sproings the curls at the top of Santi's bush — 

"My — what is my turn!" 

"Well, that has to be *negotiated* —" 

"I —" Santi giggles more — 

And wriggles — 

And arches — 

Howie pushes him *down* — 

Santi grunts — and giggles *delightedly*. "I love it when you *do* that!" 

Howie grins more. "I *noticed*." 

"Mm." And Santi gives him a sly look that *sparkles*. "You're supposed to be doing what *you* like, Howie." 

Already? Howie strokes up Santi's naked chest and then *scratches* down — 

"Ah —" 

"You think I'm not?" 

"You are... playing with me..." 

"Enjoying myself, love..." And Howie takes a long, greedy look at the expanse of Santi laid out for him. 

Just for him tonight. 

Just — 

And, at some point, he's going to get sleepy. Howie licks his lips and studies Santi's face, his eyes, how tightly he's holding his mouth — 

He always gets *loose* when he's sleepy — 

"Howie...?" 

"Just wondering... how you're feeling." 

And Santi blinks — and grins. "You are *eager*." 

Howie grins back. "Yeah, I am," he says, and shivers for the rush of it, for the fact of it, for the fact that they're on the same bloody *page* — 

They're always on the same bloody *page*, and that's incredible, but right now it's a little heart-pounding, a little mind-blowing. 

Staggering. *Hot*. Howie turns his hand and pushes down *into* those jeans, *cups* Santi's cock — 

"Unh —" 

"Wanna touch you, love...." 

"You can!" 

"You're not *helpless* enough for me, yet," Howie says, and shakes his head mock-sadly — and then has to remember to *stop* shaking his head, shit, that was some strong — 

And Santi is giggling again, breathless and hungry, pushing into Howie's hand — "I *can* be helpless —" 

"But I don't *want* to tie you down again, love —" 

"Oh — fuck! Then don't! I didn't know you didn't like —" 

"Shh, shh," Howie says, and gives Santi a stroke and a squeeze — 

"Please —" 

"*Shh*. I *liked* it. I bloody *loved* it — *then*." 

Santi pants, blinks, swallows — "I — right. I'm sorry —" 

"It's all right. I know it's intense —" 

"I just — I need —" 

"You need to be good for me." 

"*Please*. Everything you *do* is good for me, *perfect* for me —" 

Howie growls and *squeezes* that cock again — "Shh. Calm down and breathe, love. Breathe yourself down." 

"I'm — I'm getting — sometimes I get a little — paranoid —" 

"That's normal, you know — or do you?" 

Santi smiles ruefully — while he's breathing. And nods. 

Howie nods back, keeping his one hand on that pretty cock and stroking Santi's chest and belly with the other. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to take care of *both* of us tonight." 

Santi moans, breath hitching — 

"Breathe, love —" 

"I — it is making my head swim..." 

"Yeah? Do you —" 

"*You* are making my head swim," Santi says, and laughs, not giggles, letting his head fall back against the upper corner of the couch. 

"Do you *like* it." 

"I love it, please, give me more — no." 

"No?" 

Santi licks his lips. "*Take* more." 

"Just to be a little clear, you *definitely* want me to start using you *now*." 

Santi closes his eyes and smiles like he's listening to the perfect song, like he's listening to it and needs to memorize it so he can *play* it later —and then he opens his eyes again and smiles wider. "Please."

And now Howie's breathing a little too deep, a little too fast, a little too *hungrily* — 

Now he's making his *own* head swim, but it's right for this, for taking those jeans *all* the way off — 

Rubbing Santi's feet the way he normally doesn't, because Santi gets *impatient*. 

It's not his show, today, and those are damned attractive feet. 

Howie lets himself check on Santi's expression as he gives the man a world-class — if he does say so himself — foot-rub — and finds it fascinated and confused and pleased all at once. 

Good *enough*. 

Howie gives himself permission to keep going. To — do what he wants. 

Which is just to lose himself in *this* for a little while, to let the smoke take him over enough that he *can't* focus on anything but giving the best *possible* foot-rub — 

A *relentless* foot-rub — 

Slow and *ruthless* — and Santi is moaning for the treatment, wriggling beautifully over there while *trying* to keep his legs still and — 

"*Don't* touch your cock." 

"Nnh — yes, Howie — I apologize —" 

"Shh. You didn't know the rules. I'll punish you next time, though," Howie says, and doesn't stop massaging. 

Santi pants. "Will you tell me... how you will punish me?"

"Did you think you'd get a choice about it?"

Santi's cock jerks *violently*, spattering both of them *and* the couch. 

Howie nods and keeps massaging — and listens to Santi's breathing, his soft sounds of hunger, his —

Yeah. 

He goes for his cock. He *would* have to test. 

Howie's heart is *hammering* as he yanks them both up to their feet — 

As he grips Santi by the *throat* — 

As he gives him a *shake* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Are you mine?" 

"*Yes*, Howie, I —" 

"Are you mine *tonight*." 

"Fuck — *yes*! Please!" 

"Mine to do with as I *please*." 

"Please, please — *yes*!" And Santi's eyes are wide and needy, wide and hungry, wide and — thrilled. 

"Then take it," Howie says, and smacks that pretty, pretty face. *Twice*. 

"*Shit*." 

"We both know that won't mark you." 

"Nuh — I — *fuck* — have you wanted —" 

"I want everything with you," Howie says, and holds him steady while Santi rotates his jaw a little, holds him by the shoulder and the hip —

Santi pants — 

Blinks away the few reflexive tears in his eyes —

Howie brushes them away — and raises his eyebrows. "Are you *mine*." 

Santi *shivers* — and moans. "I am *yours*, Howie. I behaved *badly* *deliberately* —" 

"You wanted to see how far I would go." 

Santi shudders. "Yes. Yes," he says, and hangs his head. "I apologize." 

"But are you *sorry*." 

"I am sorry for being *bad*," Santi says, and Howie can see him flushing hard, pinkening up even more than the slaps would account for. "I — I could not stop myself —" 

Howie growls — 

"I will do better!" 

"And then you'll *have* to do better. Won't you." 

Santi *pants* again. "I... I..." 

"Are you scared, Santi?" 

"Please —" 

"Are you *worried* about what's to come?" 

"I will not... be able to stop you." 

Howie tilts Santi's face up — 

Stares into those wide eyes — 

Tries to *think* well enough to know if he should call a *halt*, or... 

Or. 

"Santi..." 

"Yes. Yes. I am yours." 

"All mine tonight." 

"*All* yours. Please," Santi says, and — he's breathing himself right down without Howie saying anything. 

That's not right. *He's* not right. Howie pulls him in closer, keeping them just far enough apart that they can meet each other's eyes — 

"Yes — yes?" 

"Yeah. Keep breathing, love. Just like that." 

"Yes?" 

"That's good. That's just right." 

Santi smiles and shivers, bright and wide even though his face must hurt a little. 

Howie rubs his face with one hand, massages it gently — 

"Oh —" 

"Shh, keep breathing, love." 

"Yes, Howie." 

He strokes Santi's hair with the other hand, pushing his fingers through it so Santi can feel how much he's *enjoying* it. 

If anything, Santi tries to smile even wider, even with Howie working on his face. 

"Easy now, love." 

"Yes — yes, Howie." 

"You're all mine..." 

"Please —" 

"Shh..." 

Santi firms his lips shut and nods once, just like — 

Well, Howie already knew he could drop fast — and *hard* — but they're usually *sober* when they're playing this way. Or just a little lubricated with wine and beer. 

This... is a *bit* more challenging. 

Because there are what his instincts say to do, and there's what the *smoke* says to do — it involves a lot of cuddling and tickling and blowjobs on the couch and seeing if he can get Santi to *come* while giggling — 

And then there's this kink. 

This big, unused-but-not-new, *hungry* kink. 

And he has a whole other set of instincts for that. 

A whole other — 

Hazy and thick and needy and *hard*, just like *him*, and — 

Shit. 

He really *is* already turning Santi around. 

Bending him over the side of the couch while he can still *stand* — 

While he can still pant and moan and *not* ask questions, not — 

"You're so beautiful, Santi..." 

Santi groans and drops his head to the cushion. "Thank you, Howie." 

"Spread your legs a little... a little more... yeah. How's that feel." 

"Like. Like I will fall —" 

"I won't let you, love." 

"No?" 

"No, love. No punishments like that."

"Thank you, Howie." 

"You're welcome," Howie says, and grips Santi by the balls — 

"Ah —" 

"This is where I admit that I *don't* know everything I want to do to you. That I *haven't* had time to think it all through in *exacting* detail." And he smacks Santi's arse *hard* — 

"*AHN* —" 

"I'm too busy dreaming of things to do *with* you, aren't I?" 

"Yes — you — *please* —" 

And Howie spanks him again — 

"*Yes*!" 

Again and again and *again* — 

"Oh, Howie — Howie —" 

Five times *hard* on the left cheek — 

"*Howie*!" 

"You're going to *feel* me tomorrow, love." 

"Yes — *yes* —" 

"Tomorrow —" *Smack* — "And the next day —" *Smack* — "And the day after that..." And he smacks the right cheek over and over again — 

Santi sobs and *grips* at the couch cushions — 

Nods and *croaks* Howie's name — 

Lifts his *arse* — 

"Oh, Santi... *good* boy..." 

"I — I — yes? *Please*. Please let me be your good boy!" 

"You're being my good boy right now," Howie says, and smacks the backs of those thighs — not too hard — 

"Unh — *unh* —"

"You're making me so *hard* for you, Santi..." 

"Oh, *fuck* — I cannot think!" 

"No...?" And Howie gives Santi's balls another squeeze — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"But I want you to think. Just a little longer." 

"I — I — I will!" 

"I want you to think about being my good boy..." 

"Yes! Please," Santi says, panting and nodding and trying to lift his arse higher — 

Howie smacks it and smacks it and *smacks* it — 

"Oh, fuck — oh, *fuck* —" 

Santi's *knees* are shaking — 

He — 

"Legs together a little bit — that's it..." 

"Th-thank you — please —" 

"Shh, you're welcome. I'll take care of my boy. My *good* boy." 

Santi groans and drops his head again, pants and *shakes* — "Howie — Howie — I need..." 

"What do you need, hm? I *might* need to give it to you." 

Santi shudders. "I need to *come*." 

"*Do* you. Well... you are my good boy..." 

"Please — *please* —" 

"And I do *love* making you come for me," Howie says, and strokes over Santi's reddened arse with both hands, getting his calluses into it as much as *possible* — 

Santi *groans* — 

Pushes *back* into the touch — 

*Offers* himself — 

"I wonder... how you're going to please *me* by coming," Howie says, and he's thrumming a little with it, with being this *mean* — 

Santi moans — 

"*Specifically*, I mean." 

"I — I will do anything!" 

"Don't you mean you'll do anything I *want*?" 

"Yes! *Yes*!" 

Howie pants and spreads Santi's arse *wide* — 

"Hnh —" 

"Shh. Look at that little hole *flex*..." 

Santi shudders and shudders and *drops* to his elbows — 

"Is this where you want me, Santi...?" 

"Yes — yes, Howie —" 

"You can't *have* me here — yet." And Howie releases Santi's arse, smacks it again — 

Santi *sobs* again — "*Please* —" 

"Shh. Not until you're helpless, love. Not until you can't even *buck*." 

"*Fuck* —" 

Howie laughs hard and moves back around to the front of the couch, stripping off his own jeans and boxers. 

"Oh —" 

"Shh," Howie says, sitting on the couch and kicking the coffee table back a few feet. "Get over here. On your knees, between my legs." 

"*Yes*, Howie —" 

"Such a good boy you are. Such a pretty, sweet... mm." And Howie strokes Santi's face, his beard, his throat — "I probably shouldn't want to mark you absolutely everywhere... but you know I do, don't you?" 

Santi groans and nods. "Yes, Howie. I want you to. I want you to *cover* me with your marks —" 

"Even if they show to all the stupid people who ask stupid questions?" 

Santi looks him right in the eye — "You're worth it." 

Howie growls and *shoves* a hand into Santi's hair. "Going to use your mouth, love. Your pretty *face*." 

Santi's eyes go heavy-lidded immediately — 

He moans and nods as much as Howie's *letting* him — 

He puts his hands behind his *back* — 

And Howie's cock twitches almost *painfully* hard — 

"Oh. That was good?" 

"Yeah. It was. Come on, back up a little..." And Howie gets his right foot right... there. 

Santi's eyes go wide again and he *grunts*. 

Howie grins. "Your skin is *soft* on my foot, love..." 

"S-soft... oh. Oh, Howie..." 

Howie *yanks* — "Mouth on my cock. Don't make me wait, now." 

"Yes, yes — mm — *MM* —" 

And that was for just a little *pressure* on that cock... so Howie keeps it up. 

Practices *rubbing* a little while he *works* Santi on *his* cock — 

Up and down and — "Not so much tongue-action, Santi. Just *suck*." 

"Mm-hm, mm-hm —" 

"Ah, fuck, you're good, you're so — more," Howie says, pressing harder on Santi's cock with his foot *while* making Santi take more — 

*More* — 

Sodding *all* of it — 

"Mmgh —" And Santi flushes hard and *shakes* — 

"That's right. That's right, love... oh, love..." 

Santi bucks up *cautiously* against Howie's foot — 

"No, no, you stay right... there," Howie says, and holds Santi still on his cock, presses hard with his foot, works that cock like a wah-wah pedal — 

Santi groans in his *chest* — 

Flushes *deeper* — 

His *shoulders* are flexing — 

"Someone wants — wants to *touch*..." 

Santi shudders and shudders, drools and *slurps* —

"Oh, messy *boy*..." And Howie does his best to work that foreskin with his foot — 

Santi shudders harder and *writhes* in place — 

Groans *loudly* — until he's completely out of air. 

And then he just gets dark. 

So — 

He never stops *sucking* — 

He never stops *mouthing* — 

He never stops *writhing*, and he's so bloody hot, so — 

Howie is growling, fucking up into that mouth, jerking that cock *off* as best as he can with one clumsy foot — 

Santi is *trembling* — and they've both learned what that means.

Howie pulls him up enough that he can get a breath — but he still waits. "*Breathe*. Breathe *deep*, three times." 

Santi obeys, slurring out an affirmation as soon as he can, obeys even as he writhes in *place* — 

Howie can't stop torturing that *cock* — 

His foot isn't *soft* — 

His foot isn't — 

But the third breath ends, and it's too much not to *work* Santi, not to give him the same rough and *rudimentary* rhythm he's giving him with his foot, up and down and back and forth and up and down again, and yeah, he's fucking him, too, fucking him *hard*, and this won't last — 

This won't sodding *last* — 

Howie is sweating like a pig and pressing too hard, it *must* be too hard, and Santi is *whining* between those hot, wet, nasty gulps, those slurps, those *suckles* — 

He's still not using his *tongue* — 

He's — 

"Good *boy*," Howie says, and fucks him harder, *harder*, holds him still again and just *uses* while he gets his other foot on those *balls* — 

Santi *chokes* — 

Coughs — 

Actually coughs him *out*, which is *confusing* and more than a bit *worrying* — 

But then Santi *screams* around Howie's cock — and spurts all over his feet. 

And spurts *again* — 

And *screams* again, eyes wild and almost *blank* with *shocked* lust — 

He spurts *again* — 

He *sobs*, and it's the sexiest fucking — 

Howie growls and *yanks* Santi back down onto his *jerking* cock — 

Santi is gulping and swallowing and swallowing, over and *over* — 

Howie is fucking up and up and *up*, brutal and *needy* — 

Howie is pressing *gently* on those balls with his foot — 

Santi is *clutching* at his own arms and sucking and slurping and *groaning* — 

Gulping and *groaning* — 

"Good boy, good little — fuck, I need you so *bad* —" 

And Santi sucks *harder*, gives him *more* — 

Howie growls and *pounds* him — "Gimme your *teeth*!" 

Santi obeys *immediately* — 

Howie snarls and *roars*, shoving himself in — 

In *again* — 

And he doesn't make it all the way down Santi's throat a third time before he's spurting, losing it, growling again and *yanking* Santi down — 

Holding him there — 

Making him take — 

Oh, take — 

Howie groans and shudders and *pumps* through it, knowing Santi will suck up every *drop* — 

Every little --

He's still not *licking* — 

Fuck fuck *fuck* — 

And Howie doesn't give himself time to slump before he's pulling Santi off and *up*, pulling him onto his *lap* — 

"Unh — Howie —" 

"C'mere," Howie says, and pulls him into a hard kiss, a hot kiss, a *deep* kiss —

Cups that pretty face with one hand and those crossed wrists with the other — 

So good — 

So — 

"Such a good fucking boy," Howie says, pulling back a little. Just enough to nuzzle. 

"Thank you, Howie. Thank you for letting me *come*, Howie —" 

Howie growls. "How'd you like coming *that* way, love. Have you ever?" 

"Not... with a man's feet," Santi says, laughing wildly, brightly — "Perhaps... I will lick them clean?" 

"Mm, no. Don't want that." 

"No?" 

Howie shakes his head. "That's a bit too close to my humiliation-play fantasies... which I don't want to play *with* tonight." 

And Santi looks *eager* again. 

Howie grins. "Another night. Another *sober* night." 

Santi licks his lips. "You want to keep your control." 

"*Oh*, yes. I want to be *sure* of my control for *that*. At least for the first time." 

Santi licks his lips — and starts breathing deeply again. Deep and *fast*. That — 

"*You* want to go wild again." 

"Yes. Yes, Howie —" 

"Don't you want to go to bed...?" 

Santi grunts. And smiles. "Perhaps... you will give me a little wine." 

"Yeah...?" 

Santi licks his lips and nods. "I will grow sleepier faster." 

Howie grins, picks Santi up, and *puts* him on the couch next to him — 

Santi laughs and keeps his arms behind his back. — 

"Yeah. Stay right there," Howie says, getting up and walking *gingerly* on his messy feet to the little kitchenette. He cleans his feet with a paper towel as best as he can, then pulls the bottle of vinho verde out of the mini-fridge. There's only a little less than half left, but...

He's not going to be drinking *any*. 

He brings the bottle back to the little living area, sets it down on the end table, sits back down, puts Santi back on his lap... and bottle-feeds him. 

"Mm — mmm..." 

Just a little bit at a time — 

"Oh — yes — I always forget how much I miss this —" 

"You told me how much you loved it. Here, have a little more," Howie says, and pours it right into his mouth. 

"Mm — mm —"

"Good boy, just swallow it down." 

"Mm-hmm..." 

"Why do you forget, do you think?" 

"I — I spend too much time away from South America. In *all* ways," Santi says, and smiles ruefully. 

Howie blinks. "Not with me." 

"No," Santi says, and smiles, and rolls his shoulders without moving his hands. "Not with you, Howie." 

Howie growls. "More." 

"Yes, more, please, make me right for you —" 

Howie shudders and pours more wine into Santi's mouth. "That's right. *Keep* me rock-hard and mad for you." 

"Mm-*hm*." 

"I love you like *oxygen*." 

And Santi takes the mouth of the bottle in *his* mouth, goes *down* on it a *lot* of the way down the neck — 

"Oh, Santi... yeah. Yeah. I'll always want you eager. But pull off now. It's not your job to suck it." 

"Mm —" And Santi obeys. "I apologize, Howie." 

"No, you did nothing wrong. I didn't tell you that rule." 

Santi pants — 

Swallows — 

"Yes, Howie. I will...." And then Santi frowns and blinks a little rapidly. 

"Mm?" 

"Just.... a little fuzzy." 

"*Really*." 

"I am not yet sleepy, but..."

"Getting there. I *see*," Howie says, and checks the bottle — about a third left. "And I *really* see why you don't join us on the smoking nights." 

Santi smiles ruefully. 

"Shh. It's all right. It'll be just for us." 

"We will... have this again?" 

"Everything we *both* decide we want." 

Santi moans. "Please. Please, more wine —" 

"Absolutely," Howie says, and gives him more — 

And more — 

And all the rest of it. 

And then he arranges Santi on his lap with his arms around his neck, and strokes and pets him. 

The remote's close enough that he can turn on the music — nice, mellow, classic soul and a little Spanish guitar that Santi had educated him into — 

They stay right where they are, and Howie keeps stroking, keeps petting, keeps *holding* — 

"You enjoy this," Santi says after a *long* silence, and he's slurring the *hell* out of his words.

"I really do." 

"This is — is your *pleasure*." 

Howie kisses Santi's dipping eyelids. "One of 'em." 

"I — am not afraid." 

"Good." 

"Howie..."

"Mm?" 

"I think you..." But the rest of that is an incomprehensible mutter into Howie's neck — followed by a slump and that quiet little not-snore that always makes Howie wonder if Santi is secretly controlling himself ruthlessly in his sleep, *too*. 

But that's not actually what he's thinking about.

That's — 

There are his *instincts*, which say put Santi to bed and watch over him until he's *safe* again. 

There's the *smoke*, which wants to point out that Santi has never fallen asleep on his *lap* before, has never been that *unguarded*, not *really*, and can't they just — 

Just — 

And then there's the giant, incredible *ache* of the kink. The kink which is going to bloody *kill* him before this night is over with, because. 

Because every time Santi doesn't quite snore, it feels like Howie gets *harder*. 

Hungrier. 

*Needier*. 

He — 

This is his. 

All his. 

Right now. 

And he's not putting Santi to bed when he picks him up and throws his arm over his shoulders, when he jostles him enough to get him moving... as much as he can — 

And those mutters were in *Spanish* — 

And came with a *giggle* — 

*Fuck*. 

He's not cuddling Santi. 

He's not keeping anyone bloody *safe*. 

He's cursing himself *roundly* for not taking this to the bed before it would've been this *difficult* — 

But he's there. 

He's there. 

And he's pushing and pulling and *moving* Santi, and God fucking help him, but it's incredible. 

It's — 

Every time Santi pushes against him just that tiniest bit, and it's not even *close* to enough to make it hard. 

Every time Santi tries to *help* him, and it's not even close to enough to make a *difference*. 

It's — 

So fucking good. 

So *fucking* good. 

And it's all his.


	3. Lucidity is overrated.

Santi knows he's dreaming. He's been good at lucid dreaming since he was a child, and while weed makes things difficult — 

Fuzzy — 

Broken in some ways — 

He's not quite — 

He's not quite who he is. 

When he looks down at himself, he's in the jersey and shorts he wore when he was the captain of his high school football team — 

He's naked on stage, an old and stupid dream — 

He's a naked *boy*, young and unseasoned, *untried*, and Howie is there. 

Howie is there, and hungry for him, ready for him, *impatient* —

Santi hasn't had this dream for long enough to know whether or not it's stupid.

He can't — 

Will this be one of the nights he can't get out? 

There's something he needs to do, something he needs to do *outside* of this — 

(Come on, love, let's spread you a little bit wider...) 

And the boy he is — is naked on his belly for Howie. 

Smiling-laughing-wriggling — 

Trying to wriggle, everything is slow, everything is *hard*. Is he tied? 

He can always release himself in his dreams — 

Except... not now. 

Santi's heart pounds and he tenses, tries to say — something — 

There is no part of him which wants to say no to Howie, but — something — 

(Shh, love, you're all right, everything's just fine...) 

And Howie's voice is low and soothing, low and rumbling — 

Howie's voice is *outside* this dream, so why can't Santi reach it *properly* — the weed. 

The weed. 

He'd smoked too much. He'd smoked too much, and he'd had wine as well — Howie had poured it right down his throat — 

In his memories, like this, Howie is pouring it down the throat of a fifteen-year-old boy —

And it doesn't matter. He's helpless. 

Just — as he'd wanted. 

Santi is the boy on his belly on the bed, waiting for instructions and so, so hungry. 

Santi is also the rest of himself, the part who watches and plans, who had planned *this* without *much* in the way of dithering or, to be fair, critical thought — 

(Remember, love — you're all mine now. All night long, for whatever I want. I *will* take care of both of us.) 

And it is Howie, not some excitingly terrible fantasy dom. If the Santi outside this space keeps whimpering, keeps tensing — 

Howie will not be able to continue, no matter how much he wishes to. 

There is safety here. *Safety*. 

And that is only one of the reasons — one of the *smaller* reasons — why Santi had wanted this in the first place. 

He...

He does not have to be lucid. Not completely. 

He does not have to keep *control* of every *dream* — or of who he *is* in every dream. 

So he slips deep, deep, deep into the boy on the bed --

He is — 

He *is* — 

He is shivering and whimpering, so weak, so tired — he can't stay awake! He can't — but Howie feels so good. Howie *always* feels good...

(Just relax, love. Just like that...) 

And now he is moaning for those touches, and he knows they're quiet, low — 

So — 

(— perfect, just like you...) 

And he wants to listen, to hear — 

To feel Howie's big hands moving all over his *body* — 

Howie is touching him *everywhere* — 

He — 

But the world is blank again, warm and soft and comfortable, open — 

If he's tied it's very comfortable — 

Howie is so good to him — 

Howie takes *care* of him - -

And Santi is dreaming of taking care of Howie, of serving him at meals, of pouring his wine and kneeling — 

Making Howie happy — 

Making Howie *hungry*, please, *hungry*, and — 

And everything is wet, everything is — 

Santi is gasping and trying to focus, trying to *move* — 

His *hole* is wet — 

That isn't — 

He isn't — 

And then he can hear Howie laughing, *feel* Howie laughing, right there, as he licks and licks and — gets Santi *wetter*. 

Santi wants to *squirm* — 

Santi wants to — to scramble up onto his *knees*, make it *easier* for Howie --

Give anything to Howie, *everything* to him — 

Santi is moaning so *high* — 

(Is that the way it is, love?) 

Yes! Yes yes!

But Santi's not certain what language that came out in, or if it even came out in language, at all, because Howie is wriggling his tongue *inside* — 

So — 

All the way *in* — 

So sleek and *wet*, and of course Santi had showered, but that was hours ago! Howie has made him sweat! Howie *always* makes him — makes him — 

(MMmmmm....) 

And Santi is shaking, moaning more, but he can't lift his head, can't claw at the sheets, can't — 

He's losing — 

And in the dream he's on his knees again, and he's naked, and the collar around his throat has Howie's name and no one else's — 

No, no, Howie is *putting* the collar around his throat, and telling Santi that he's his, that he'll always be *his* — 

Howie isn't *asking* — 

Howie *knows*, knows everything, wants — 

And Santi's own sob wakes him, takes him back to Howie's mouth, Howie's wet mouth, his own wet *hole* — 

Howie is *sucking* him there, sucking hard, wet kisses — 

Sucking so *hungrily* — 

Not — 

Santi sobs and sobs and tries to thrust against the sheets, tries to call Howie's name, tries to *beg* — 

He can't *beg* — 

He can't do *anything* but *take* it, and Howie is being so greedy with his mouth, so — 

He's not *pausing* to massage, or to rub with his beard the way he usually does — 

He is — 

He is *taking* — 

He is taking what he wants. 

He is growling and sucking and fucking and — 

Taking what he *wants*, and Santi is sweating all over for that, thrilled, hungry, *desperate* — 

It's exactly what he wanted and nothing he imagined! 

It's — 

And then Howie pulls back and pants against him — (Santi. Santi. You need to come for me...)

He will, he will, he will do *anything* — 

And then Santi hears himself make a *sound* outside of the space, outside of — 

Howie had pushed in with one spit-slick *finger* — 

So *deep* — 

(Come for me and then go right. Back. To. *Sleep*,) Howie says, spreading Santi with his other hand and licking in, fucking in, *sucking* around and against his own working finger — 

The burn is — 

The heat and slick wriggling *wetness* — 

Santi is clenching so *helplessly*, and he can't stop, can't stop sobbing, can't stop his belly from *trembling*, can't — 

And Howie needs him to come. 

Howie *wants* him to come. 

Howie — 

It would be so much easier if he could *move*, if he could *ride* these feelings, take more, have — 

But. But that's the point. He can't. 

He can't do anything. 

Everything he does — everything his *body* does — is for Howie — 

Finally for *Howie* — 

He's clenching even *harder* — 

The noises he's making feel like they *should* wake him up, let him *move*, let him *free* — 

But it's sweet, so very sweet that they don't as Santi's cock spasms and spills without his permission, without his *touch* —

And Howie growls into him *again* — 

Kisses him so *messily* --

Pulls back and *crooks* his finger *hard* — 

Santi spills *more*, wetting down the bed beneath himself, shuddering and gasping — 

(Good *boy*,) Howie says, and he *milks* Santi's prostate, works it and works it with his finger so — 

So *dirtily* — 

Santi spurts twice more, and for long moments it feels like his body won't stop spasming, won't stop burning, won't stop *giving* for Howie — 

It's only *fitting*!

But — nothing else comes out — 

And *eventually* his cock stops jerking — 

And Santi's body... drifts.

This is dangerous. He knows it is. 

He won't be able to stay with Howie, even as much as he is. He won't be able to — 

(Shh, shh, just relax, love...) 

Oh, but was he making more noise? 

Is he drifting so much *already* — 

He can't — 

(Remember, I want you to slip right down to sleep again...) 

Oh...

(I want to touch you *then*. *Have* you then.) 

And Santi's eyes are already closed, but he closes them tighter, breathes slower — 

Howie laughs so *happily* — (Wish I could follow you into your dreams, love...) 

Follow me everywhere!

(Wish I could spend every *second* with you.) 

Santi wants — 

Howie is pulling out *gently* and stroking him firmly with his other hand — 

Santi wants everything everything every —

(— all your secrets...) 

What? What did he — 

(Shh, go right down...) 

Yes, Howie, always, always, and in the dream Howie is taking him to get his ears pierced, both of them, and Santi isn't sure where his parents are — 

How old he is/they are — 

Where — 

Santi shoves the irrelevancies aside and shivers for the proprietary way Howie touches his ears, stares at them, tugs on the lobes. 

Howie is saying he'd thought about doing it himself, but he'd wanted to be more careful than that, wanted a more exact look for Santi's pretty face — 

Howie is so careful!

Howie is, sometimes, too careful, but he can be led away from this, *convinced* away from this, and that is everything, so much, *everything* — 

The *next* piercings Santi gets will be done by Howie's own hand. 

Santi has decided. It will be so. 

Howie snuggles him in the back of the car, and of course the bodyguard and driver — a carefully-anonymous-to-Santi man named Marcus; he has learned lessons since Celio — will say nothing, but it still feels sweet, *illicit* — 

Howie pushes and pulls, moves Santi how he *wishes* him — 

This is always so *perfect*!

Santi laughs and gives himself over to it, tries to help — 

Tries — 

But why is it so hard? 

He is not *drunk* -

He is not — 

He can't move, at *all*, and he is on his back — 

His legs are in the *air* —

He can't *look* like this in front of —

(Look at my perfect boy...)

Outside, that was outside, that was — 

But there's no time to *think* before there's a slick, long, *thick* finger pushing *deep* — 

And Santi is *gasping* — 

Trying to open his *eyes* — 

He can almost manage with the right — 

He — 

He *is* tied — 

Soft, padded restraints that feel familiar to parts of himself which are buried too deep to *reach* right now, soft — 

He's tied on his back with his legs bent up nearly to his *chest* —

He is *limp* in the restraints — 

(I know, it's gilding the lily, but this was the *easiest* way to get what I wanted — which was you on your *back* while I fucked you.) 

Oh — 

(While I *had* you,) Howie says, and *twists* his finger, crooks it, slides the lube all *around* — 

Santi wants to *beg* again — 

Santi wants to — 

To incorporate this into his *dreams* — 

Santi wants *more* —

But Howie pulls out and comes back with more lube — the thicker kind they almost never use because Santi prefers the other — 

Works his finger all around — 

Pulls out and comes back with more — 

*More* — 

Santi feels *messy*, tight and dripping at *once* — 

(I know, you don't like *this* feeling, love. But how about this?) And Howie *shoves* in with two fingers — 

Santi tries and fails to arch — 

Cries out in — 

In and *out* of his mind — 

He can't — 

He *can't* — 

(Good boy...) 

And Howie fucks him so *hard* with his fingers, fucks him so — 

So — 

It *hurts*, even with all the lube, and the position is so *difficult*, and Santi is dreaming of being in the back of the car on a deserted road, dreaming of Marcus *holding* Santi's legs in position... for... 

And he is there, and Howie is growling and cupping Santi's throat while he fucks Santi so *hard* — 

And Marcus is quietly advising Howie on how to *grip* so as to leave fewer — or more — marks — 

Passionless and matter-of-fact — 

*Dry* — 

Howie is laughing and telling him to *shut* it and do his *job*, which is keeping Santi safely in *position* — 

Marcus nods *once* and obeys — 

And obeys when Howie orders him to push Santi's right leg *higher* — 

And obeys when Howie orders him to splay Santi's legs *wider* — 

(You're so bloody *beautiful*...) 

Outside, *outside* the dream, and Santi is gasping again, struggling to move and *failing*, failing so — 

But Howie is still fucking him, still — 

Still *opening* him — 

And Santi is still *restrained*. 

Marcus is long gone, but the restraints work just as well, the restraints have him open, bent, *available* — 

And Howie is pushing a third finger into him. 

Howie is panting and growling, rubbing Santi's belly restlessly, seemingly *helplessly* — 

And pushing — 

And *pushing* — 

And Santi is sobbing for it, for the *delicious* pain of it, for the wonderful *stretch* in his swollen hole. He is *aching*, and it doesn't matter how often Howie fucks him, it doesn't matter how often Howie fucks him *hard*. 

Howie doesn't fuck him like *this*. 

Howie doesn't *start* with a reaming, start with — 

Oh, Santi is groaning, limp and taking it, taking it and he can't do anything *else*, but he wouldn't, he *wouldn't*. 

He wants to *tell* Howie this!

He wants to give him — 

Give him... 

Everything...

And it's Hugo holding him spread, Hugo gripping him and moving him for Howie, smiling down at Santi so filthily with his little blue sunglasses firmly in place — 

And every time Howie speaks about secrets, about living *inside* Santi, Hugo will use his greater age and experience and wisdom — 

He tells Howie that Santi loves it, loves everything, loves being this helpless — 

He tells Howie that Santi loves belonging to him, loves being his toy, would do anything to feel his *pleasure* — 

He tells Howie that he's earned every reward, and he has to *take* them, that it's wrong not to, that you don't let a boy like Santi go *unused*. You have to take —

Take every — 

Take *every* — 

(You're groaning in your *sleep*. You're — you're moaning and *drooling* in your — you're driving me up a fucking *tree* —) 

And Santi grunts, blinks, focuses — 

Tries to focus — 

Tries to *see* — 

He can't. He *can't*, and he can't stop the noises coming out of his mouth for Howie's brutal *fuck*, his slamming, driving — 

Oh, his good *fingers*!

His good — 

He needs — 

(You're so *gorgeous* — I can't — I *can't*,) Howie says, and pulls out fast and steadily, growling the whole time, growling and *shaking* — 

Once he's out, Santi feels like he's gaping, feels like anyone could see everything *about* him, feels — 

(Oh, *Santi* — fuck, now,) Howie says, and the sound of him slicking his cock is fast and dirty, hot, *promising* — and the promise is right there, right *there* — 

Howie is pushing in — 

Howie is pushing *in* — 

(What — what I *want*,) Howie says, and *shoves* in —

Santi *drops* — 

And it's Tom holding him up and spread, Tom teasing Howie for his brutality with Santi, Tom teasing Howie for being so rough, so --

Tom offering to help, to wrench Santi's legs into interesting shapes if Howie thought he'd enjoy that, too -- 

And Howie would laugh helplessly and growl *hard*, Howie would promise Tom a *taste* if he didn't watch his *mouth* — 

And Tom would say something about how he'd never *used* to want to be on disability benefits after his sexual encounters before, but he's considering it now, considering everything now, wanting --

(Come *back*.) 

But Howie *has* him, Howie is giving Santi *everything*, every — 

Every rough thrust, every brutal *slam* — 

He's giving Santi the *long* thrusts he usually doesn't bother with — 

He's trying new *things*!

He's making Santi feel everything, feel every *millimeter*, every beautiful *millimeter*, and he's driving in so fast, so *fast* — 

Faster seemingly with every thrust — 

Faster with every — 

Every *grind* — 

And Santi can just see him through his mostly-closed eyes, see Howie's wild expression, his *desperate* expression, his desperate *lust* — 

He's so *hungry* — 

Santi has made him so *hungry*!

Luca would goad Howie *on*, Luca would urge Howie to fuck Santi harder, Luca would know — 

Luca knows what it *means* to want to give Howie everything!

Luca would cradle Santi's head and hold him steady even while he was telling Howie to be — 

(Ah fuck, ah fuck I need you *with* me!)

And Howie leans in and kisses him, kisses him hard, bites his *lips* hard, grinds their beards together — 

And Santi isn't a boy — 

Santi isn't —

Isn't a *boy* — 

It's jarring, shocking — 

(Stay *with* me, love, I need you so *badly*!) 

He can't move he can't focus he can't *see* — 

But he isn't a boy, and he's here, he's here, he's where he *belongs*, and he aches, he hurts, he needs, he needs so much more of *this*, he's sobbing for every thrust, every — 

Every *shorter* thrust — 

Howie is staying *deep* now, staying so *deep* — 

Rutting in and in, giving Santi his cock and letting him *keep* it — 

Santi can't breathe, can't — 

Can't kiss *back* —

Even his *tongue* won't *move* enough — 

Howie sucks it and fucks him *harder* — 

Santi *mewls* — and Howie's belly is shoving against Santi's sensitized and dripping cock with every thrust, Howie's belly is soft and hard, hairy and warm, perfect and *perfect* — 

And Howie's *cock* is opening him so *wide*, making him so *tender*, so ready for *anything*, and — 

And when Howie shoves a hand between them to stroke Santi, to *strip* his cock — 

"Come for me *again*!" 

There's no choice. There's no *choice*, and Santi doesn't want one, he's never — 

He's never wanted one with *this* man. 

He lets himself be slack and loose — 

He lets himself be *helpless* — 

And he lets Howie *fuck* him into another desperate orgasm, another groaning, shuddering, *shaking* — 

He's spilling all *over* Howie --

*Howie* is groaning, growling, biting him again, tugging on Santi's beard with his *teeth* — "I can do anything if you're with me, I can — bloody *anything*," he says, and kisses Santi again, shoves his arms under Santi's shoulders — 

*Holds* him — 

And fucks him fast and rough and *relentless* — 

Swallows Santi's every helpless *grunt* —

Until Santi shudders to *stillness* again — 

"Oh *fuck* —" And Howie *slams* in and *snarls* as he spurts — 

As he spurts again and *again* — 

As comes *inside* Santi — 

Oh, where he belongs, where he *belongs* — 

And Howie kisses him again — 

Kisses him so *sweetly* even as he spurts *more* — 

And *keeps* kissing him, squeezing Santi tight and fucking in, in, *in* every several seconds, fucking into his own mess with an almost leisurely dedication that won't let Santi drift — 

That keeps Santi with him. 

Howie is taking what he needs. 

This... is everything.


	4. Tom is a controlled substance at this point. A lot of you already knew that.

Santi is dreaming. It's much closer to one of his typical dreams — there's the usual flotsam of his daily life to brush aside, the usual nightmares of losing his memories and intellect to *shove* aside, and then — 

And then he is a sticky mess lying beside Howie, who is smiling down at him wonderingly. 

He asks him when they're going to *wash* — or perhaps do something else in the shower — 

Except that nothing comes out of his mouth. 

And nothing happens when he tries to move. 

And — damn it. 

"Yeah, you're a bit closer to actually awake than you *were*, but you're still not there, yet. Next time, *I* roll the blunts." 

Santi raises an eyebrow. 

Howie laughs and *kisses* Santi's eyebrow. "Well, we know we don't want Tom to roll 'em, love. You'd be like this 'til the filming break." 

Santi opens his mouth to speak — 

It doesn't go well. 

At all. 

Howie rolls over on top of him. "Shh, love. Just drift. I'll watch over you."

You need me with you!

Howie kisses him softly again — 

Again and again — 

"Mm. The only reason I moved was because *you* did — a little. Thought you were coming out of it — and you are — but..." Howie laughs more. "I can't believe you actually did this with people you didn't completely trust. You're amazing and *insane*." 

Santi blushes — 

Is *grateful* that he can't squirm like a child — 

Is... tired. 

"Yeah. Just let go, love. I've got what I need right here." 

But...

"I can almost *feel* you asking about a dozen questions aloud about that and about a *million* questions *silently*," Howie says, and yawns, and kisses him again. "I'll answer all of 'em when we can actually have a conversation. Rest." 

That is *frustrating* — 

Howie holds him tighter. 

Santi sighs out his air, and dreams of being curled in Howie's arms, while he tells every secret in his heart.


	5. Every experiment needs a lab report.

Howie wakes up because he's in the process of being *straddled*, which is bloody wonderful, especially because it's Santi doing it — 

"Hey —" 

"One moment," Santi says, and cups Howie's shoulders and pushes him back down to the bed. 

"Oof — mm. Yeah? Need to get a little of your own back?" 

Santi blinks — and looks like he's giving honest thought to the matter. 

Howie gives him time for it, and just enjoys the look of that face when it's not slack with *helpless* sleep. When it's sharp, focused, *ready* — 

And then focused on *him*. "I think — I *think* — I only need you to stay in one place and look only at me while you answer my questions." 

"I can do that," Howie says. "Though I'm going to have to piss —" 

"You will wait." 

"I will *definitely* wait. How *are* you?" 

Santi grins — and then smiles softly. "You kept your promises. *All* of your promises." 

Howie licks his lips. "I always will." 

Santi sighs. "I... I was very frustrated at several points." 

"Because you didn't like what I was —" 

"Because I couldn't *tell* you how much I liked what you were doing. Because I couldn't tell you how I wished I could give myself to you over and over again, in every possible way. Because I couldn't tell you that I needed you to *own* me." 

Howie grunts and tries to convince his brain that it's had about five more minutes to wake up than it has. That failure thoroughly in place, he says: "You knew I was — doubting." 

Santi nods. "When I was... drifting, I was dreaming of you, Howie. Of you... and a teenaged self of mine —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

Santi smiles ruefully. "They were very beautiful dreams. They bled into the reality we were sharing... until you kissed me." 

And that's *confusing* — until it isn't. "I made you feel your beard." 

"Yes." 

"Damn, I'm sorry, love. *Tell* me when you want to dream those dreams and I'll be more careful." 

Santi stares at him, curious and hungry and wondering all at once. 

Howie cups his hips. "What? What is it?" 

"I... know you well enough to know you do not judge me for wanting to be a boy with you, at times —" 

"You'd *better* —" 

"Will you... dream with me?" 

Howie shivers and grins. "Didn't we say something about *all* the kinks?" 

"*This* one stops you a little. And... you've said nothing about owning me." 

"Well, that's because I'm still catching up and trying to come up with something good *to* say —" 

"No —" 

"But the answer is *yes*, absolutely yes, fuck yes, *please* yes —" 

"Howie —" 

"You — you hate it when I doubt how you feel. I know you do." 

"*Yes* —" 

"So, let's say this, mm?" And Howie strokes up and down Santi's sides. "I'm not going to doubt a damned thing you tell me plain. Like, say, that bit about wanting to belong to me. Wanting me to *own* you." 

"Oh... Howie." 

"Mm-hm. And, if there's anything I *do* doubt, I'll just bloody *ask* you, and *not* in the middle of a scene." And Howie raises his eyebrows. 

Santi grins. "And me being a boy for you?" 

"Well, I haven't *done* that, and it *does* seem a bit kinkier than some of the other things we do — yes, including this —" 

"*Really*?" 

"*Really*. How *old* were you?" 

"Fifteen!" 

"Oh. Hunh. Well, that's not so —" 

"What were you *imagining*?" 

"Like — like a *twelve*-year-old —" 

"Oh my *God*, Howie —" 

"I *always* expect the extreme with you, Santi; it's bloody *prudent* —" 

"Not this time!" 

"All right!" 

And then they're snickering like arseholes together, which — 

Well, that's perfect. 

Especially once Howie starts bouncing Santi on top of him and he gets another one of those *giggles* — 

*Yes* — 

"*Howie* —" 

"I'm listening!" 

"What did *you* not like about our experiment?" 

"Well, other than not being *with* you right at the end... it was bloody fantastic. I don't know how *much* you were aware of, but..." And Howie shakes his head. "Just moving your *limbs* around the way I wanted to with you not being able to help or hinder was *amazing*." 

"Yes?" 

"*Yes*. And you *were* responsive. The whole time. Wonderfully responsive. *Differently* responsive. Moans and groans instead of *yells*. It was *fascinating*." 

Santi nods thoughtfully. "Did you like it more?" 

"No. I didn't have your *eyes*. I didn't have those moments of *focus* you get when something is taking you over just right... and those moments when you *lose* all your focus. But — I *absolutely* wouldn't mind doing this again." 

"No?" 

"No." 

And Santi licks his lips and blushes — 

Flushes down his chest — 

Ducks his *head* — 

Howie growls and *grips* those hips. "Tell me, c'mon." 

"I... want to experiment with every *possible* way of giving myself to you." 

"Oh... Santi. Fuck. We can do that. We can — fuck, yes."

Santi grins. "I should say..." 

"Mm?" 

"We were not always alone in my dreams." 

"No...?" 

Santi licks his lips. "After you restrained me, Hugo, Tom, and Luca took turns *holding* me in that position for you in my dreams." 

And the thing is, they've done things... a little like that. 

A *little*. But — 

"We've never been that serious with them." 

"We have not," Santi says, beautifully unhelpful. 

Howie grips his hips harder. "Santi." 

Santi ducks his head again. "I... the answer is that I do not know. And that I would like to know how *you* feel about it." 

Howie nods thoughtfully and sits up until he's just holding Santi in his lap. "I don't know, either. I *hadn't* considered it — I promise. For me, it was serious-with-you in this box and playtime-with-you-and-the-others in that box over there." 

"And... you never mixed the boxes?" 

"Not much time for that, love," Howie says, and nuzzles Santi's beard-burned face. He knows his own isn't much better. "But I'll make time, and think hard, and give you an answer soon. An answer about what I think I'd be *interested* in — not what we *have to have*." 

Santi smiles ruefully. "I knew this already, but I appreciate the reassurance." 

Howie kisses Santi, slow and deep. "I love you," he says, into Santi's mouth. "Take *all* the reassurance." 

"And all of you?" 

"Yeah. That, too." 

Santi smiles against his mouth... and nuzzles him softly. 

end.

**Author's Note:**

> In the story, there are one-sided sexual fantasies about one of the parties being underage. Both parties are above the age of consent throughout.


End file.
